


The World Runs to Chaos

by BlackAquoKat



Series: Law & Disorder [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), Wilford "Motherloving" Warfstache
Genre: Nonbinary!POC, Other, POC!OC, Slightly - Freeform, a self-insert character with a background, but the DA is less of a disaster, nonbinary!oc, slowburn, these two are total disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 17:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackAquoKat/pseuds/BlackAquoKat
Summary: In Which a party goes horrifically wrong and both professional and personal boundaries are crossed.(Alternatively, my DAtective edition of Who Killed Markiplier?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took so long to move from tumblr. This year has been insane. You may want to read the three previous installments for my DAtective series Law & Disorder before reading this piece. Otherwise some of the references and events may make no sense. I also played with a new kind of formatting for this particular fic, in order to accommodate what I consider to be the angsty DAtective theme song. Also, this is long. Like, really long. Enjoy!

_“Screw the phone, screw you and all your stupid rules_

_Are you alone? Are you dancing by yourself?_

_‘Cause I’m out here, alive here_

_We’re dancing here_

_Chugging from the bottom shelf…”_

* * *

##  **I**

Up until the moment Abe saw the District Attorney walk through the door, he thought he could make it through this party in one piece,  ~~despite the Mayor’s attendance.~~

But that had been a goal of his, hadn’t it?

To talk with the Mayor.

Maybe see what Abe’s favorite attorney sees in the guy. If he’s really as clean as they claim he is.

Five minutes into a conversation he won’t remember later, and Abe finds that he _likes_ Mayor Damien Goodwin. Which, of course, only makes him more suspicious. He doesn’t like many people.

Unwittingly, he thinks of the one person he _does_ like right now. The memory keeps him from abandoning the interaction.

Besides, he’s not blind.  How often does one get to speak to a drop-dead gorgeous government official?

_~~Don’t think about the DA again.~~ _

To further prove that Fate enjoys throwing curveballs into Abe’s life, he looks up and the  _goddamn District Attorney_ walks through the door in all their stoic, ready-to-verbally-tear-you-a-new-one glory. Only for the first time since he’s known them, they’re not in working clothes, but in a casual fancy ensemble that practically makes them glow and the sight shoots straight through his lungs.

They look just as surprised to see him. He can’t tell if it’s good surprise or bad, what with their argument still lingering over his head like a pendulum.

_“I thought we trusted each other.”_

He chokes on whatever he was about to say to the Mayor, whose brow furrows at this reaction. “Are you okay, Detective?”

Before Abe can answer, the Mayor follows his gaze. He can hear the smile in the man’s voice. “Oh! There you are, old friend! How are you settling into your new office?”

Abe quits the room before he can catch their quiet response. But he hears the Mayor’s declaration of trust echo tauntingly after him.

Why are they  _here_?

Abe was asked to look into all the attendees, but the DA was never on the list.

Were they a last-minute invite? Had they just not been an area of concern for Mark?

Or is it their connection to the mayor—

“Welcome, welcome, one and all!”

Mark’s dramatic entrance down the stairs derails Abe’s panic. For the moment.

While he’s thinking rationally (a rarity in and of itself), Abe decides the best thing to do is avoid them until further notice, since he’s technically on assignment right now, keeping an eye on the guests and employees for suspicious activities.

Piece of cake.

 

* * *

 

Or maybe not, Abe thinks as he watches the District Attorney down a glass of champagne without breaking eye contact with him.

Seems like they can’t stop staring at one another, no matter how drunk they get.

They want to talk, he can tell. Or at least they did before the drinking started.

He’s never seen them drunk before.

As the party guests fumble about, bumping into one another and daring and gambling and throwing cards, he finds himself close to the DA a lot, staring into their wide, ancient eyes, more vulnerable and open than he’s ever witnessed. The  _fifth_ time their shoulders brush clumsily against his (if Abe didn’t know any better, he’d think they‘re doing it on purpose), he sees their mouth twist in an odd way.

Almost… _impish_.

It catches him so off-guard he doesn’t realize he’s been staring at their mouth for far longer than is probably appropriate, but they don’t discourage him, and he doesn’t pull away first.

Or maybe he does.

How that interaction ended is a little fuzzy.

All he knows is one moment they were staring at one another when they went to refill their drinks and suddenly they’re both in an isolated pocket of the room, where the rest of the guests pay them no heed.

“I didn’t realize you and Mark were acquainted,” they say first.

“I could say the same of you,” he shoots back.

Their brow lifts and is it the alcohol or have they always looked this attractive when they were angry?

Well, maybe not so much when they’re mad at him.

(No, even then. It’s a completely different anger than the one they utilize when facing the defense attorneys in court. This one crawls under his skin and sets him on fire. What the hell is wrong with him?)

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, their gaze flickers to where the Mayor is sitting, still blissfully unaware of their absence. “You were talking to Damien when I arrived.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t interrogating him,” Abe reassures with a roll of his eyes.

“Then what were you doing,  _Detective_? After all, you made your opinion of him quite clear the other day.”

Damn, they’re back on the “detective” thing. Is this how their opponents feel in the courtroom? He feels like he’s staring down the barrel of a gun again.

No wonder they got elected.

“Just…getting to know the guy, that’s all.”

He winces. That sounds like a lie even to his ears.

Judging by the look on their face, they  _definitely_ don’t buy his statement.

He sighs. “Look, I felt bad about what happened and sure, I still don’t trust the guy, but…”

“But?”

He runs a hand down his face. “I see what you mean. He seems like a good guy.”

_~~I can see why you’d choose him.~~ _

Their brow furrows. “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

Wait, did he say that last thing out loud?

_Shit!_

Their eyes light up in realization. “Wait. Abe, you don’t think that Damien and I are—”

“Hey, what are you two doing huddled over there?!” jeers Mark from the poker table. “Abe, it’s your blind!”

“Coming!” Abe turns to the DA with an apologetic look before rejoining the table.

He hears them sigh before they follow.

For the rest of the game—where the DA proceeds to clean out every single of their chips because even in their most inebriated state, it’s impossible to read their expression—Abe  _swears_ they keep watching him and it thrills him as much as it distracts him and  _damn it_ , he didn’t come to this damn party to lose this much money just because he can’t stop thinking about how they were going to end that last sentence.

(Or maybe because he can’t stop wondering what would happen if he leapt across the table and kissed the District Attorney until they both forgot the Mayor even existed.)

 

* * *

 

Abe wakes up the next morning feeling stiff with alcohol and regret.

The latter baffles him until he flexes his hands and flinches.

His knuckles are bruised. So is his cheekbone.

He can’t for the life of him remember  _why_.

Most of last night, actually, is a blur of loud music, obscenely bright lights, and the beautiful angry eyes of the District Attorney.

~~Could he be any sappier, for Christ’s sake…?~~

Abe pinches the bridge of his nose in a lackluster effort to fight against the headache hammering against his skull. His mouth feels like cotton soaked in acid.

(Why does he taste lime on his lips?)

Maybe his headache and his memory will improve once he gets some coffee and egg whites in his system.

Every movement from the bed to the blizzard-cold floor leaves him aching like an old man, so he decides to forego clothing and practically crawls to the closet to slip a guest robe on.

When he arrives downstairs, after an enormous amount of physical exertion that may have left him sweating more than he should have, Abe finds himself blinking into the maze of hallways.

Where the hell is the kitchen again?

He’s trying his damnedest to urge his hungover mind into recalling the layout of this ridiculous house when a strike of lightning exacerbates his headache by several notches.

The sudden sound unsettles him more than he cares to admit (the sun is  _blaring_ through the windows, how the hell is there a  _thunderstorm_ right now?), so Abe hurries to the nearest room to see if anyone else heard it.

And that’s when he finds the District Attorney standing over Mark’s corpse.

 

* * *

 

_“I’m so sick of parties_

_I’m so sick of being drunk_

_I hold my breath, lips brush against my ear_

_But I don’t feel them_

_Or know them_

_I just know you_ _…”_

 

* * *

##  **II**

As soon as the room empties, the DA turns on Abe.

“What the hell was that about? I’m a lawyer, not a  _detective_!”

Jesus, Abe doesn’t want to think about that right now.

He just made the District Attorney his partner.

His  _partner_.

As soon as the words left his lips (compulsively,  _stupidly_ ; he thought his hungover had dissipated as soon as he saw Mark’s corpse, there’s no way he would have made them his partner while sober) Abe had wanted to crush them under his foot.

~~Has he just signed their death warrant?~~

“Look,” Abe says after too long of a silence, “you’re the only other person here with any kind of experience in law enforcement and I’ll need all the help I can get. You with me, or not?”

His voice comes out harsher than he means, but isn’t that just about par the course whenever he speaks to them these days?

Their eyes narrow at his tone. He suddenly notices the dark mark on their jaw and remembers his sore knuckles.

_The punch lands harder than he means it to, and the DA crashes unceremoniously to the floor, hand rubbing the side of their jaw._

_The mayor scrambles to their side, one hand holding their head still so he can examine their jaw. “Are you well?”_

_“I’m fine,” they respond. They push up onto their elbows and look directly at Abe’s guilty face. “Feel better now?”_

_No. No, he doesn’t._

_Matter of fact, he thinks he might throw up._

“Of course I’m with you.”

Their declaration yanks him from the sudden memory and Abe almost forgets where he is.

Jesus, he  _punched_ them last night?

And they’re still speaking to him?

“Abe? You there?”

Abe shakes his head. “Glad to hear you’re on board, Partner,” the title rolls off his tongue with an ease that both delights and frightens him. “Now let’s get to work. Judging by the temperature of the body that I measured rectally, which is obviously the most accurate way to get the inner body temperature of a corpse—”

“You did  _what_?!”

“—that’s a fact, totally procedure, don’t tell anyone I did it—”

“Christ, Abe, I’m a  _lawyer_ , you can’t tell me these things!”

“—I am sure Mark was killed around 1:30 a.m. last night.” Abe thinks on that for a moment, then, because for once he wants to feel like he’s in control of something this morning, he stands up and points at them in accusation. “So what were  _you_ doing at 1:30 a.m. last night?”

“Didn’t we do this already?” they snap.

“Answer my question, partner.”

They stare up at him, challenging, and suddenly he remembers something else from the previous night.

_“So you’re telling me you don’t agree with the death penalty?” The idea is baffling to Abe. He stares at them like they’ve grown another head._

_“I’m saying that only certain crimes should be considered worthy of further violence,” they argue, “and only when the evidence is undeniable. It’s also a horrifying expensive and inhumane practice, barbaric even.” Their tone is adamant, and Abe finds himself admiring the passion lining their posture, lighting up their wavering gaze, he’s never seen them drunk and God, they’re beautiful in their openness._

_“So…what then? You don’t think a killer deserves death?”_

_“I’m saying that until discrimination can be taken out of the equation, maybe we shouldn’t pump human beings full of electricity, especially if there is even the slightest chance they could be innocent.”_

_He points at them, and he can’t decide if the almost-smile on their face is genuine enjoyment of the debate or a challenge._

_“So you wouldn’t want the person who killed you to pay for his crime?”_

_“I’ll be dead. What will I care?”_

Abe shoves the images out of his mind.

Meanwhile, the challenge in the DA’s mind fades into something more thoughtful. “Do you seriously not remember?”

“Remember  _what_?”

They glance away from him, biting their lip, before standing up. “Never mind. I was in bed at 1:30. I remember staring at the clock before I went to sleep.”

Are they  _blushing_? Why would they be blushing?

Oh  _God_ , what happened last night?

“Fine then.” He can demand answers about any drunken mishaps later. Abe is more than reasonably certain that the DA wouldn’t have killed anyone. “So, we need to figure out where everyone was and what they were doing around that time or, at the very least, who saw Mark last. You need to get out there. See if you can piece together the story of what happened last night. I’ll stick around with the body and run more…tests.”

As he sniffs his fingers, the DA hurries away.

“Please wait until I’m out of the room before doing…whatever you’re about to do.”

 

* * *

 

The next time Abe sees them, it’s from behind a potted plant, just after he discovers Mark’s missing corpse. He meant to tell them right away, drag them back into the manor but…

They’re talking to the mayor again.

“Look, I’m sorry you saw that argument with the Colonel. I lost my temper, and it wasn’t right, and…he must be in shock.”

“…I’m sure he is.”

What’s with that tone? Did they speak to the Colonel already?

It doesn’t escape Damien’s notice either. “The Colonel’s an eccentric; it’s his best quality, and his worst. But, he’s my friend and…so was Mark.” His hands flail helplessly. “I know I’m supposed to be a leader in this scenario, but I can’t help but feel lost! I’ve known Mark for years, since we were kids! And he’s just  _gone_?”

All they do, after a moment of loud silence, is lay a hand on his shoulder, lightly. He doesn’t shrug them off. As a matter of fact, he seems grateful for the attempt.

Abe hates the acidic taste the sight leaves on his tongue. Still, it’s far less of a display than he expected.

_“We went to University together. We’ve been friends ever since.”_

Could that really be all there is to it?

“Do you…” they clear their throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Damien shakes his head. “That’s very kind of you, but truthfully…I just need to be alone…to process all of this. We’ll talk soon, I promise,” he reassures, “but I need to think.”

He walks away from them, head bowed, and Abe has never wanted to see their face more, gauge their reaction.

~~Could he have overreacted over nothing?~~

Then he remembers he actually has a job to do. A corpse to find.

“Hey, partner!”

They spin, startled, and then hiss a curse under their breath. “Don’t  _do_ that!”

“Get over here, now! Hurry up!”

They must hear the urgency in his voice, because they drop their offended expression and rush to his side.

The tightening, foreboding knot in his gut loosens, just slightly, when they’re next to him again.

 

* * *

 

_“Yeah, it might be the Smirnoff or all the Natty light_

_Yes, it is weak, but there’s nothing left to lose_

_So call me right now and I’ll cave_

_I’ll answer you and blame the booze…”_

 

* * *

 

##  **III**

“Abe, weren’t we in a different section of the house a moment ago?” the DA asks.

Abe pauses and looks around. “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure out the layout of this place. But anyway, not important right now.” He starts walking forward, the DA just a step behind him. “What’s important to ask is this: why did Mark invite us all here? Why  _tonight_? He said we were celebrating, but he never specified what. It’s almost as if this whole shindig of a hootenanny was just a ruse…”

He stops walking once again, the weight of the day pressing in on his shoulders. “Mark was my friend, had been for years. But then he went quiet. I knew something was wrong, I just never figured out what. Now I guess I never will.”

Could he have prevented this somehow? Stayed sober last night, visited more during those quiet months?

There’s a brushing against his fingers, and Abe looks just in time to see the DA take his hand and squeeze it gently.

He relishes in the comforting contact (when’s the last time he’s let  _anyone_ touch him like this?) until they speak again.

“I saw some security footage earlier. You talked to Mark three days before the party?” Their voice is friendly enough, but he hears the unspoken question.

_Were you going to tell me?_

He levels a serious gaze at them. “I’ve been working with him for years. What’s your excuse?”

_You don’t look like you’d have a reason to kill him. But I’ve been wrong before and it cost me too much._

Their brow lifts. Their hand slips from his grasp and the loss of contact is almost as cold as the look they give him. 

“My only connection to Mark is Damien. I’ve only met him a handful of times over the years because he and Damien grew up together, and because he donated  _generously_ to my campaign fund.”

It always comes back to the damn mayor, doesn’t it?

Abe’s frustration must have shown, because the DA groans. “My God, will you get over yourself? Damien and I are best friends.  _That’s all.”_

Abe coughs to cover up his disbelief. “That’s fine, I don’t know why you’re telling me—”

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Abe?” they accuse. “Do you think I don’t notice when someone is lashing out over misplaced  _jealousy_?”

Oh shit. They said  _that_ word.

That word that is absolutely  _not_ what’s happening with him.

~~Or is it?~~

“I am not jealous!” Abe defends with a laugh he really hopes sounds indifferent.

Judging by their crossed arms and furrowed brow, he is failing gloriously. He opens his mouth (to dig a deeper hole for himself most likely), but they hold up a hand.

“Look, I know this isn’t the time to have a conversation, that’s fine. But after all of this is said and done, we are going to  _talk_.” They step closer to him, ancient eyes sharp enough to cut into his skin. “There are things I need to tell you. Preferably when we’re not trying to find a killer and a missing corpse.”

Abe wants to laugh but he doesn’t because the urgent sincerity in their face leaves him wondering if he’s seen them look like this before.

He’s almost afraid to hear what they’re going to tell him.

Luckily, murder is a valid reason to put off unwelcome conversations.

He waves his hand, falsifying a nonchalance he absolutely does not feel. “Good point, we’ll talk later about your poor taste in ‘friends’, in the meantime—”

“I swear to _God_ , Abe—”

“—let’s keep walking.” Despite that last jab  ~~that he should have kept to himself~~ , the DA follows him further down the hall. 

“So, the real question we should be asking is: who stood to gain the most from Mark’s death? Now, in my thorough analysis of the corpse’s anal cavity—”

“I didn’t hear that,” they mutter.

 

* * *

 

The detective gestures towards the entrance to Mark’s room several minutes later. “Well, after you.”

The DA rolls their eyes, but before they reach for the door, they turn back to him. “Detective, do you remember anyone going into the wine cellar last night?”

“Not that I can recall, why?”

“When I was interrogating the butler,” they confess, “he led me to the cellar and panicked over a broken bottle. While his behavior itself was just… _weird_ , I was wondering when and why any of us would have gone down there. I mean, there wasn’t a pool of blood or even any wine stains, but someone could have easily cleaned it up.”

“Huh…” Abe strokes his stubble chin. “That is…very interesting, indeed. We’ll have to ask around after we examine the victim’s room.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He hesitates a moment, before nodding in approval. “Good work, partner.” Maybe this won’t turn into a disaster after all.

They swell just a hint at the praise. “Thank you.”

The pair enters the room, and the DA hisses a curse at the state of the master bedroom.

Furniture is overturned, clothes are strewn about, and glass is shattered all across the floor. It looks as though a hurricane has blown through the room.

“Looks rough, but I don’t think he was killed here. So perhaps there might be more to the cellar you mentioned. Still, take a look around, see if you find anything, but be careful. I’ve lost three partners before to bedroom booby traps.”

“Yeah…if I die, do not put ‘death by bedroom booby trap’ on my gravestone, please?” They step over a pile of broken glass to a table with several photographs on top.

He doesn’t want to think of them with  _any_ kind of gravestone, but he doesn’t exactly want to bring the mood down again.

“Of course, partner, whatever you say. Make sure you don’t tamper with any evidence.”

“I’m sorry, what was that, Mr. Anal Cavity?”

“I heard that!”

 

* * *

 

Maybe Abe should have paid more attention to the Colonel’s sudden reappearance. Maybe he should have looked up and seen how unsettled you were by the man’s behavior.

But he didn’t.

Now he’s alone in Mark’s bedroom, holding Mark’s underwear, and trying desperately to remember more of what the hell happened last night, at least where the DA is concerned.

He’s only marginally successful.

_“You goddamn idiot!” the DA growls. They pull away from the mayor, grab Abe’s arm, and drag him into another room whilst the Colonel calls for another volunteer._

_“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Abe yanks his arm away. “C’mon, it’s a friendly game of Russian Roulette—”_

_“There is no such thing as a ‘friendly Russian Roulette,’ you drunk moron!”_

_“Hey, you’re drunk too! Don’t go calling the blue kettle a pot!”_

_The DA’s frown deepens. “I’m sober enough to know how badly you botched that saying.” They hold up a hand as he tries to speak again. “Look, obviously you still have issues to work out, and since this problem is affecting our enjoyment of the party, I say we get it out of our systems.”_

_“Get what out of our systems?”_

_“I want you to punch me, Abe.”_

_He certainly wasn’t expecting that answer. “What? No! Why would I do that?”_

_“Because obviously you’re still upset for God knows what reason, and I can’t help but notice that part of it has to do with me. To be honest, I’m still pissed at you too.”_

_“What, does that mean you’re going to punch me then?” he taunts._

_“Yes.”_

_“What?”_

_Instead of responding, their fist cracks into his cheek._

_Abe reels back, hand touching his cheekbone in disbelief. “You-you—” He can’t decide if he’s indignant or even more attracted to someone who can throw a damn good punch, but his wavering isn’t doing him any favors, “—you hit me!”_

_“I warned you,” they snap. They hold their arms open, leaving their face and body vulnerable. “Now it’s your turn.”_

_Abe raises his finger and waves it at them. “No, I don’t think so.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Hello again!”_

_Abe stiffens as the very ruffled mayor stumbles into the room, a wide smile on his face as he beholds his friend, the DA.  
_

_“Why do the two of you keep running off together?” He gestures wildly to the other room. “The party is in there! Don’t worry, I made the Colonel put away the gun!”_

_“That’s great, Damien, but I’m a little busy trying to get the detective here to punch me,” the DA says conversationally._

_The mayor glances from his friend to Abe, and blinks several times. “Is this a new game I’m unfamiliar with?”_

_“It’s a quick thing, don’t worry about it,” the DA dismisses. They turn back to Abe. “Abe, hit me already and we can get this over with.”_

And that’s all he’s got so far.

It explains the bruise on his cheek. It explains the discoloration on the DA’s jaw.

But…why the hell did the DA think punching each other would fix anything?

Why would he go through with punching them in the first place? He can’t think of why he would suddenly change his mind.

What did he do to anger them so much?

Wait…the group played Russian Roulette last night?

_Mark was shot, along with all those other injuries…was I there when it happened?_

_Did he die during the game? Was I too drunk to notice?_

That last thought feels like a dagger in his gut. It was so  _stupid_ of him to let down his guard last night in a house full of strangers. Mark’s blood may as well be on his hands…

Abe paces across the room and comes across the picture his partner had been looking at before they left. He picks it up off the table, a feeling of dread settling over him.

It’s a picture of the Colonel, in a frame with cracked glass. Like the whole thing had been smashed.

Abe drops the frame to the ground with a loud clatter and tears out of the room because he let his partner walk off with the guy who is most likely to have killed Mark last night.

 

* * *

 

_“House parties are proof the world runs to chaos._

_I go outside and that’s when I see you._

_And you say, don’t talk._

_I’m sorry._

_I’m scared of this._

_Well, I’m scared too…”_

 

* * *

##  **IV**

“BULLY!”

The Colonel bursts from the pool with a flourish and now you’re wondering if perhaps you need a nap or another dose of alcohol, because  _what in the actual hell is going on?_

You turn away to try to call Damien back, but then the Colonel appears right next to you again, completely dry and dapper, like he didn’t just take a spontaneous dip into the pool.

“Oh, life needs a bit of madness, eh chap?!”

You stare at him for the longest time. “Right now I think Life is just trying to confuse me.”

“Of course, that’s what life is for, isn’t it! Now, what were we talking about? Oh yes, the grisly business inside! Well, I’m sure I’m not the first to say that our host had a great deal of enemies as of late.”

“To be perfectly candid, Colonel,” so long as he’s being open, you decide to be a little honest with him, “no one has really been open about their opinion of Mark, aside from Damien, so I appreciate any insight you may have.”

Nothing you can do about the “madness”, as he so aptly phrased the situation, but acknowledge it and move on.

“Indeed?” The Colonel nods. “Well, I am glad to help. My prying eye might suspect that the people who worked for him might have reason to stab him in the back. God knows he’s a tough son of a bitch to work for.”

You place your hands on your hips. “Is that right…?”

Unwillingly, your mind drifts to Abe. He said he’d working with Mark “for years,” but he also called Mark a friend. You decide to ask him if there’s any merit to the Colonel’s hatred.

“Oh!” He looks over the balcony they have approached, his eyes lighting up in delight. “The old golf course! I-I’ll fetch my clubs!”

“This place has a goddamn  _golf course_  too?” you whisper in disbelief as the Colonel charges down the staircase and into the greenery. “Wait, I’m not done—!” 

“Colonel?” Damien reappears behind you. “Damn, I thought I heard him.”

You look back over the balcony and sure enough, the Colonel is nowhere in sight. “You…uh, just missed him. I guess.”

This place makes no. Damn.  _Sense_.

And you can’t even joke with the Detective about it because everything is so  _tense_ between the two of you right now. Maybe it’s a blessing that he doesn’t remember everything you did last night.

Damien pinches the bridge of his nose before shaking his head. “No matter. Would you accompany me? There’s something that I would like to discuss with you.”

“Of course, Damien.”

“Now, I know you’ve been assisting our… _intrepid detective_ with his investigation—”

You try not to pause for too long. “Why do you say it like that?” you ask quietly, even as the urge to defend Abe rises in the back of your throat.

“…I have to bring some concerns of mine to the forefront. If we look at this situation logically, we can only assume that the killer who struck down our dear friend Mark was  _with us_  last night. And while I would stake my life on the innocence of the Colonel or yourself—”

“I appreciate that.”

“—can we really say the same of our beloved detective?”

Your mouth twists. “Damien, with all due respect, I don’t think Abe is a killer.”

You very rarely disagree with Damien. In all your years of friendship, you can count on one hand the number of times you and Damien were on opposite sides of a fight.

But this isn’t a fight. Not yet.

Damien’s gaze turns questioning. “My memory of last night is…rather fleeting, I confess, but I remember some things. Old friend, are you acquainted with the detective?”

His tone is neutral, but, at the same time, not unkind. A good start.

“I’ve helped with a few of his cases when they came to court, back when I was just an Assistant Attorney. He was actually the first detective I got to work with.” You spare a brief smile at the memory. “He’s unorthodox, short-tempered, and has a really weird fixation with corpses that I try not to think about too much, but he’s an honorable man. The only one willing to work with someone like me.”

And you may or may not have grown some not-so-trivial feelings for the ridiculous detective who is hellbent on making everything harder than it has to be, but you can’t deal with that can of worms right now. The situation is complicated enough.

Damien gives you a long look, long enough to raise questions. But then he nods. “I trust your judgement, and if you believe so, I’m inclined to do the same.”

You relax minutely at his words. At least with the rest of the world falling apart, you could still rely on your dearest friend.

 

* * *

 

As Abe runs, he only gives brief notice to how the hallways and doorways didn’t lead to the areas he thought they were supposed to.

These thoughts flee from his mind when he finds the Colonel, just as the man pulls the trigger of his gun and fires in Abe’s direction.

The bullet shatters the vase on the table beside Abe.

The gunshot elicits Abe to pull out his own weapon and fix it on the Colonel. “I don’t know  _what_ you’re playing at, but you better lower your weapon and tell me where my partner is, you  _murderer_!” the detective commands.

“I bloody well won’t, you’re the one who assaulted me! For all I know, you could be the murderer!” the Colonel shoots back.

The thunder erupts around them with each utterance of that word, and the sight of the Colonel pointing a gun at him—

_The night goes downhill when that damn Colonel whips out his weapon without hesitation at Mark’s suggestion of a game of Russian Roulette._

_“Oh, count me out,” the DA hisses as soon as the gun appears. “Guns and I aren’t on friendly terms right now, bullets included or not.”_

_“Is anyone_ ever  _on friendly terms with weapons?” The mayor muses aloud, his hand landing on the DA’s shoulder._

_Abe has never wanted to tear off someone’s arm more than in this moment._

_“Oh, lighten up, chaps!” the Colonel encourages. “Just a friendly game of ‘Who’ll Bite the Bullet First’ is all it is! Personally, I think I’ll win! I have the strongest teeth!”_

_The DA blinks. They turn to Damien. “That’s the friend you never shut up about?”_

_Damien shrugs. “I suppose I’m a magnet for eccentrics.” He punctuates the statement by gripping their shoulder and when the DA rolls their eyes with a begrudging smile in response, Abe does something_ really  _stupid._

 _“I’ll go first!” he announces. His arms fly open, ready for bullet time and wow, he’s_ really  _drunk—_

_That tears the smile off the DA’s face. “What?!”_

_“Alrighty then!” The Colonel raises his gun and pulls the trigger._

_“ABE!!”_

_But the trigger activates an empty barrel and Abe nearly topples over with the force of his laughter. “Of course not! That’d be too easy, wouldn’t it!” he chuckles._

_He can’t even tell if he’s joking or not._

_Living’s been far too hard lately._

“What the hell are you idiots doing?”

Abe jerks in surprise at the sound of the DA’s voice. They’re with the Mayor ( ~~of course they are~~  damn it, he needs to  _focus_ ) so his relief about their safety is tinged with irritation.

“Hey, partner,  _I’m_  not the idiot in this scenario—”

“Everyone, please!” Damien interrupts desperately. “I know we’re all on edge, but can’t we resolve this amicably?”

What kind of ridiculous understatement is that? 

“On  _edge_?!  This psycho tried to shoot me!”

“That’s a bold-faced lie!” The Colonel denies. “I was merely doing some light target practice!”

“ _Inside_?” The butler smacks the Colonel with a feather duster.

“Well,  _yes_! I couldn’t go on the grounds now with that bloody chef in my way, could I?”

“You’re damn right!” the Chef interjects. “You should have remembered that, Private! Besides, you’re not my boss anymore!”

“It’s ‘Colonel’ now,” the man growls.

The DA steps closer to the Colonel and the Chef and Abe’s nerves go haywire at the sight. “Hold on a moment, you guys need to calm the hell down—!”

“Enough of this horseshit!” the detective interrupts,  _anything_ to keep his partner from getting too close to the gun-wielding maniac. He addresses the Colonel. “You knew I was onto you and you were trying to knock me off before I could finger you!”

A long, uncomfortable pause follows.

 _Shit_.

“…AS THE MURDERER!” he tacks on too late to save face.

The lightning strikes again, as if also mocking him for his verbal slip-up.

“I will  _not_ be called a murderer in  _my own home_!” the Colonel shouts, his statement interrupted yet again by a thunder crack.

“Stop!” a new voice cries out from the back porch.

 

* * *

 

_“This is how it feels to fall in love_

_This is how it feels to fall_

_The weakness, the sadness,_

_The sirens, the madness_

_The pounding in your chest,_

_Like you’re racing the streets in an ambulance…”_

 

* * *

 

##  **V**

“Mark’s death is a terrible thing indeed,” the newcomer, Celine, Mark’s ever-elusive ex(?) wife declares.

Honestly, Abe doesn’t know what to think of her. She just arrived out of  _nowhere_  and suddenly thinks she can take charge of the situation? And how did she figure out what was up with the lightning so quickly?

“We need to speak with Mark.”

“I knew it! He’s a flesh-eating zombie!” the Chef declares.

“No!” Celine shoots down.

“Well, maybe one of those smart zombies,” the Colonel suggests. “Homeo sapio zombifus.”

“Can we  _stop_ with the zombie talk?” the DA begs quietly.

Abe decides to take pity, since he’s the only one who heard them. “You okay?” he whispers.

“It’s bad enough that there’s some kind of magic going on here,” they hiss, “I do  _not_ need to deal with the undead too.”

“I need to commune with the dead.” Celine announces half-a-second later.

Of  _course_ she does.

“That…doesn’t sound like a good idea,” Abe finally decides to say.

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t need your permission.” 

Rude. He was just expressing a bit of concern over, you know, trying to deal with the devil. 

“But you!”

The DA startles when Celine points at them accusingly. “What about me?”

“You’ve been awfully quiet through this whole thing.”

The accusation in her voice is obvious. Abe’s first thought is, yeah, the DA is  _always_ quiet, it’s just how they are, but then that gives way to more doubting thoughts.

Abe has  _no idea_  where this sudden suspicion of his partner comes from, but now it’s here, shadowing his mind with inky fingers, darkness crawling up his spine.

_You don’t remember where they were last night._

_They know Mark._

_They didn’t like him…_

Apparently he’s not the only one. The Chef and Butler express similar sentiments.

( _That_ should have sent off a warning bell, all of them suddenly agreeing on one nonsensical thing.)

“Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted someone so goddamn gorgeous,” the detective muses aloud.

“Are you guys  _shitting_ me?”

Their utterly betrayed gaze is enough to frighten the inky suspicion from his mind. The next moment, he’s overwhelmed by cold shivers.

What the hell was  _that_?

And why do the Colonel and the Mayor seem unaffected?

“Celine,” Damien speaks up, “this is our District Attorney and my dearest friend. They are the most honorable person I know. This baseless accusation will get you nowhere.”

Abe hates the shame tinging his thoughts at the Mayor defending  _his_ partner.

“Very well.” Celine inclines her head in the DA’s direction. “If Damien can trust you, perhaps I can too. I sense that you have a far greater part to play in all of this. Will  _you_ help me find an answer?”

The DA’s brow furrows. “I…I don’t know about this.”

“Please,” Celine presses. “We need to figure out what is happening and this is the only way—”

“Alright, that’s enough!" Abe finally says, because enough is enough, this is still his case and the DA is still his friend(?). "I’m not gonna just sit around and let you drag  _my_ partner off to their very likely death. I won’t stand for it!”

They don’t reject his help, but judging by the look on their face, it’s too little too late.

“Well, I trust Celine with all my heart! I see no reason why any one should doubt her!” The Colonel defends.

“That’s easy to say when you’re not the one invited to a _séance_!” the DA argues.

Abe doesn’t know what it is about their tone, but that triggers something…

_“If you don’t hit me now, I’ll just hit you again,” the DA taunts, but they sound more frustrated than anything else._

_“I won’t hit you!”_

_“Why not?”_

_“I’d much rather kiss you!”_

_The words slip between Abe’s teeth before he can bite them back. He barely sees the DA (or the mayor) register the statement before he panics and punches the DA without further ado._

Oh, Crucified Christ on a  _platter_ , he said  _that_?

He’s never drinking around the DA again.

“If it makes you feel any better, you all can stand watch outside the door, but my work cannot be interrupted.” Celine folds her hands and stares down at the DA. “So will you help me, or not?”

Those delayed warning bells kick in. Something’s not right with this lady.

The DA stares right back at the Seer, completely unintimidated by the woman’s gaze, which Abe finds impressive. He’s barely known her ten minutes, and he already see that Celine is a force to be reckoned with. She has the vibe of a woman who could watch you trip off of a cliff side and laugh like it was a poor joke.

“… _Fine_ ,” they eventually agree, not bothering to hide their begrudging tone. “But I still don’t like this one bit. I want someone keeping close to wherever we’ll be.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Partner,” Abe reassures. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on every single one of you. Even myself. Especially myself.”

They blink at him like an adorable owl and he winks back. Before they follow Celine up the staircase, he sees their mouth twitch into a brief smile.

 

* * *

 

Something sparks in his head as the DA leaves with Celine. Abe allows the memory to drift through his mind’s eye while he stands guard by the room, keeping one ear ready for anything out of the ordinary while the rest of the group lingers further away, chatting uneasily.

_“I don’t have a concussion, Damien,” the DA says, not unkindly, as the mayor attempts to help them up from the ground. “I’ll be fine. Go back to the party.”_

_The mayor looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Abe can’t say why._

_As the mayor leaves the room, he throws a suspicious glance at Abe._

_Abe supposes that’s fair._

_The DA sighs once it’s just the two of them. Abe can’t stop staring at the discoloration forming on their jaw._

_“Do you want me to grab you ice—?”_

_“I want you to actually_ talk  _to me about what’s going on with you. But we can’t exactly do that while we’re drunk, can we?” They stroll unsteadily upstairs to the guest rooms._

_Abe follows them, not entirely knowing why he does so._

_“If you’ve got something to say to me, just say it,” he hassles. “No consequences if we can’t remember what we said tomorrow, right?”_

_They don’t bother responding to that._

_When they enter their room, they leave the door open and look over their shoulder, as if expecting him to join them._

_In_ their  _room._

 _Abe suddenly regrets everything he just said about no consequences,_ shit _, why are they looking at him like they want him in their room—_

_They roll their eyes and yank him inside. “If I was going to sleep with you tonight, I’d tell you. I hate bedroom miscommunications.”_

_They tear the makeshift hat off of his head and toss it into the hallway. He honestly forgot he’d been wearing it in the first place._

_Abe tries for a flippant laugh, but it comes out strangled because now he’s having_ thoughts _. Thoughts he really shouldn’t be having about the District Attorney who may or may not be in bed with the suspicious mayor. “Obviously. Come on, I’d expect nothing else from you. You’re the most practical person I know.”_

 _They stare at him in a way that honestly makes him question their intentions again because holy hell in a_ handbasket _, when’s the last time someone’s eyes raked over him like he wasn’t cursed?_

_He doesn’t realize they’ve stepped closer until their toe-to-toe with him._

_“Not sure I’m being practical right now,” they whisper._

_Abe can’t tell if they’re actually speaking to him or to themself._

_Their hand comes up and touches the edge of his loosened tie and it feels like they’ve pried his lungs open, he’s lost all the air he can hold._

_Before he can take a breath, they grab his tie and surge forward, stopping just before their lips touch his and he can see the sudden insecurity in their eyes._

_Well, too late for that_ now _, Abe thinks as he closes that last centimeter of space between them._

 _There’s nothing gentle about it. The DA’s hands fist into his vest, his hands grab at their shoulders tight enough to leave bruises before one trails up to grip the back of their neck, and everything about it is glorious and_ intoxicating _, they taste like lime and gin (they must have found a stash of the drink somewhere) and for_ once  _he’s not thinking about death and solitude, just wondering at how he finally met someone like this—_

_They part from one another, and Abe breathes like he’s been underwater for hours._

_The DA releases one hand from the tight grip on his vest to hover over the bruise on his cheek, where they punched him._

_“Guess that didn’t work like I’d hoped,” they mutter under their breath. They press their lips delicately against the injury, so light he almost doesn’t feel it._

_They pull away, releasing his vest, and Abe swears they’re holding his heart bleeding in their hands._

_The urge to make them stay in his arms or to run out of the room before they can send him away come at him with all the force of a hurricane._

_In the end, his hands lift halfway between him and the DA (does he dare steal one last touch before the night ends?) before falling back to his side. He steps towards the door._

_And stops when they grab his elbow._ _“We’re going to talk tomorrow,” they promise. “Don’t think too much before then, okay?”_

_He looks back to see that same intensity in their eyes and it sets his blood on fire._

_But they don’t ask him to stay._

_Did he want them to?_

_~~Yes.~~  
_

_So he only nods once before leaving without another word, going right to his room._

_He doesn’t feel much like partying anymore. Not when he keeps getting distracted by the lingering taste of lime on his lips._

When Abe finally blinks away the memory, he feels like throwing himself over the banister.

The DA—he and the DA—they both, they—

They remembered that moment last night, Abe is sure of it.

And Abe  _didn_ ’t.

God, he is  _definitely_ never drinking around the DA again, because that should and will be a memory that keeps him going until the day he dies.

He jumps from the wall at the shouts coming from the room the DA is in.

The room  _his partner_  is in.

He bursts in, the mayor close behind.

For once, he doesn’t mind the man’s close proximity.

 

* * *

 

_“I’m watching you_

_I’m watching me_

_I’m watching us_

_Fall…”_

 

* * *

##  **VI**

The door shuts on the blinding lights emanating from behind the twisted silhouette of Celine and at this point Abe is quite certain he’s lost his mind.

But that’s been in question since long before he came to this godforsaken place, so he focuses his attention on more pressing things.

Like the utter devastation on his partner’s face.

Because their friend the Mayor was behind that door too. And they look like they’re about to crumble to pieces.

What Abe  _wants_ to do is take them in his arms and hold them together. But there are too many people around and the situation is starting to implode.

In light of this, Abe settles with just putting his hand on their shoulder. They spare a glance at him, ancient eyes welling with angry, unshed tears. They look like he did with every partner he lost.

But then he’s distracted by the Colonel’s outrage and in his haste to chase after the man, he leaves the DA behind.

Abe follows the man around a corner, but there’s no sign of him.

What the  _hell_ …?

And when he goes back to where he left his partner, they’re gone too.

Those pictures in his wallet, the ones of past partners long gone, have never felt heavier.

 

* * *

 

You drop out of that dark, warped dimension, and struggle to regain your balance as your ears pop. Your heart is pounding hard enough to hurt your chest.

The question of how you arrived at this part of the house fades from your mind as quickly as it appears.

As you lean against the nearest door frame, you realize you’re in front of a room you’ve never seen before.

Then again, it seems that the house itself is keeping secrets, as insane as it sounds.

But what  _hasn_ ’t been insane about this entire situation lately?

(It takes so much effort not to think of Damien. If you try to grapple with the fact that your best friend is  _never coming back_ , you’ll be of no help to anyone.)

You press your knuckles into your eyes until tears no longer threaten. Then you make your way into the mystery room and examine the chaos.

You recognize Abe’s writing on the notes, on his board. Newspaper clippings pinned here and there. Pictures of the rest of the employees, the other guests…

The Colonel and Celine.

 _Together_.

But you knew about that. 

(Damien told you when it first happened, and you held him as he cried over his sister abandoning one of his friends for another, and how his life had suddenly splintered into fragments.)

You are blatantly obvious in your absence from this investigative wall of madness.

But how the hell did Abe have the time to collect all of this?

…why didn’t he tell you?

Your hand drifts over the typewriter, over the paper littered with scattered, smudged repeating lines:

_The Colonel did it._

At the edge of the desk is the smashed picture you found in Mark’s room.

Dread weighs in your stomach like lead. The walls of the room feel like they’re closing in, pressing all the air out of your lungs.

In the back of your head is a suffocating thought desperately clawing forward, demanding your attention. Why is it so hard to listen to it?

 _This place is cursed_ , the groundskeeper said.

Eventually, you manage to pry the drowning thought open, and it whispers through your head with all the terror of an impending execution.

_You need to get out._

_Abe_ , you think, choking on the tendrils of fear wrapping around your throat. _I need to find him._

“There you are!”

You jump far more violently than you should have at the Colonel’s sudden appearance.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you some questions…”

As he looks around the room, you set the picture down and back away as if he’s a wild animal.

Which, considering the look on his face…

“What is  _this_? The detective’s been keeping tabs on us?”

“Colonel, I need you to listen to me—”

“The detective’s been keeping tabs on  _me_. And  _Celine_?” His voice turns into a growl. “He’s the one who orchestrated all of this! He did this!”

Oh  _God_ —

“Colonel, wait,  _no_! That’s not true! Colonel!” 

You follow him out of the room as he pulls his gun.

You are so  _terrified_ that it’s too late to save anyone.

 

* * *

 

The sight of the shaken DA behind the gun-wielding Colonel is one of the most distressing things Abe has ever seen.

It sets off dark, angry parts of himself he hadn’t known existed before coming to this awful manor.

 _It’s the Colonel’s fault_ , something whispers in his head.

“You better choose your next words carefully, Colonel!” Abe threatens as he pulls his own gun on the man. If this guy hurts his partner, not even the gates of hell will keep Abe from enacting vengeance.

“Only my friends get to call me by that name, and you, sir, are  _no_ friend of mine!”

“Well, you’re one to talk about friends, you  _murderer_!”

The thunder claps, and Abe can feel stronger tremors under his feet than the past strikes.

“Abe, stop saying that word and put the damn gun away!” the DA pleads. 

“Get away from that bastard, Partner! He’s the one who started all this when he murdered Mark!”

“Abe, you don’t understand—”

“I didn’t kill  _anyone_!” the Colonel denies over the sound of another lightning strike. “This is madness!”

“Oh, you wanna talk about madness? Madness is stealing your best friend’s wife!”

“Abe, Colonel, you have to  _listen_ to me!” the DA urges as they try to pull at the Colonel’s arm, only for him to shove them away. “We have to get out of here,  _now_!”

Abe keeps speaking, tries to keep the Colonel from turning on his partner. “… _Madness_ is squeezing him for cash to fund your own sick sexual exploits with that very woman!”

“Abe, for the love of  _God_ —”

“Shut up!”

Why is there so much lightning now? Why does it feel like shadows are pooling at their feet like blood?

Abe is undeterred. As long as the Colonel stays focused on him, he’s not focusing on the DA. “Madness is plotting the death of your childhood friend because you can’t handle the—”

The echoing gunshot registers a split second before the pain in his chest does. The ground shakes beneath his feet.

“ABE!” the DA screams.

Abe crumbles to the floor like wet cardboard, never taking his eyes off his killer or his partner. There’s an obscenely loud ringing in his ears.

His killer looks oddly regretful.

“Colonel,  _put the gun down_!” the DA orders, the horror leaving their face, replaced with determination.

“Partner…” Abe tries to call, but there’s liquid welling in his lungs, “…run…just run…”

Before the Colonel responds, the DA goes for his gun, and Abe’s mind barely catches up with the sight before another gunshot cuts through the air.

The District Attorney jolts away from the Colonel, red blossoming from their white shirt, from their ribs. They stare at their trembling, bloody hands in a daze.

 _No_.

No, not another one, not another partner, not this one, _please God, not this one—_

As the world around him fades to darkness, the last thing he sees is his partner toppling over the railing, the Colonel reaching out for them.

 

* * *

 

_He didn’t die._

But most days, he wishes he did.


	2. Epilogue

* * *

 

_“Time is passing, but we’re still drinking_

_Life is passing us by_

_We’re drinking last week’s alcohol…”_

 

* * *

 

Maybe if Abe dumps enough vodka down his throat, he can forget that he’s lost in some nonsensical dimension where he can obsessively pursue a case for years (supposedly) and know little-to-no actual details about said case.

Dancing can only help for so long.

How long has it been since that day his false world had been exposed?

Then again, does it matter? Time in this place apparently doesn’t play by the rules. He can’t even count the years…

Abe downs another shot of vodka and turns to observe the crowd underneath the pulsating lights. Wilford is back onstage, leading the dancers as if he has no care in the world.

But Abe has learned now that that’s definitely  _not_ the case.

He’s learned a lot of things, yet he still has more questions than ever.

Abe’s questions vary in importance, but one in particular is a priority for him.

Wilford’s lucid moments come and go at rather sporadic intervals, and after figuring this out, Abe usually tries to time his question during those lucid moments.

_Where is my partner?_

No matter when he asks these things, however, Abe can tell there’s something in Wilford’s head that just doesn’t… _click_.

He’ll talk about the Mayor, the Butler, the Chef, and, with particular fondness, the Seer. But every time Abe asks where the District Attorney is, it’s like there’s a blank spot. Wilford’s eyes lose what little focus they have and minutes later, he says, “What were we just talking about?”

It took Abe longer than he’s proud of to realize that Wilford wasn’t joking. Something else is going on there.

In the meantime, while he stews in his confusion, his partner consumes his waking thoughts.

Not that they weren’t on his mind when he had been hunting the Colonel back when the world was black and white, when vengeance and justice were the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces.

_"You wouldn’t want the person who killed you to pay for his crime?”_

_“I’ll be dead. What will I care?”_

Before the Colonel brought him back to reality, or  _whatever the hell this place is_ , any thought of his partner had been related to their association with the case. Just a never-ending loop of watching them die, and hating the Colonel with every fiber of his being.

It didn’t occur to him until recently: he hadn’t thought of  _just_ the DA as a person in so long. Only their death and its effect on him.

Now that’s he sees color again…he remembers other things:

The way they bit off the ends of their words when they were frustrated.

How rare and blinding their dimpled smiles were.

Their determination to win cases with arguments that cut to the heart of the matter like a scalpel.

The bright, if exhausted, shine in their ancient eyes.

~~How their lips tasted like the lime they stuck in their drink that last night.~~

That last memory hits him like a freight train, knocking the air out of him.

“Bartender,” he chokes out, and before he can think better of it, he asks, “A gin and tonic with lime, please.”

Moments later, the bartender slides the drink to him. Abe takes a moment to breathe in the scent before taking a sip.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

Someone approaches the bar next to him. Abe barely spares the woman a glance out of the corner of his eye.

She steps closer to him. “And what’s your name, stranger?” she says in an enticing tone. Another peripheral glance allows him a better look: chestnut brown curls, hazel eyes framed with shimmering gray eyeshadow, a button nose, and a rather sweet smile.

Abe spends all of five seconds considering his options.

A beautiful person is acting like he’s worth talking to. He should be feeling  _something_ , shouldn’t he? He's never been one to turn away a lovely face or a good flirt, anything to put off the ache of loneliness.

But there’s just…nothing. He can’t take his eyes off the damn drink in his hand and his mind keeps returning to memories of the only person who made him think there could be more to his life than constant death.

(Fat lot of good it did the both of them.)

“Sorry, but I’m not in the mood for any company,” he tries to say gently. He downs the rest of the gin (he’ll regret that later, he’s sure) and takes the slice of lime from the glass. He then throws several bills onto the counter. “Matter of fact…I think I’m gonna head home.”

Abe doesn’t stick around to see her reaction. He approaches the stage and shouts, “I’m leaving, Wilford.”

Wilford blinks down at him, mid-dance move, and leaps from the platform. “Well, my friend, I may as well make sure you get there in one piece! Don’t want any nasty crashes happening to our beloved detective!”

“Hey, if you hadn’t dug into my head, we wouldn’t have nearly crashed in the first place,” Abe argues as they leave the club.

Thankfully, there should be a bottle of something alcoholic at his place.

And later, when the lime slice tastes like lost chances and regret and everything he should have had, well, no one needs to know that but him.

Through it all, the same question runs through his head:

_Where are you, Partner?_

**Author's Note:**

> The song lyrics are from the Broadway song "Last Week's Alcohol" written by Kerrigan-Lowdermilk.


End file.
